Saints Row: Rise Of A Foreign Outsider (a novelization of Saints Row)
by Diggy Diesel
Summary: After being granted a transfer from Ultor Unlimited's UK headquarters to Stilwater, a crash course introduction to American gang warfare is initiated after a gunfight is witnessed, resulting in Jay Irons staring down the barrel of a gun. Will he do what it takes to survive in this gang infested war zone? A first-person perspective on the events of the first game.


Stilwater, the venue of a new life for me to live. Little did I know that my lowkey entrance would be eclipsed by the events that laid ahead of me within this city. As I passed through customs and stepped into the sunshine, I noted the unremarkable scenery and drab colours. Beauty is only skindeep though, right?

A taxi pulled up almost immediately after I had checked my bank balance at the cashpoint inside the airport entrance and making a withdrawal (more on that later). A grimy yellow vehicle with the EagleLine Yellow logo on the side. Suitcase in tow, I walked to the rear and opened the boot before throwing in my luggage.

"So where to, my man?" the middle-aged driver asked as I climbed into the backseat. His breath reeked of cigar smoke and resisting the urge to recoil in disgust I referred to my notes as he turned back around to grip the steering wheel. He began to drive before I could give him the destination.

"Mission Beach please," I replied. The taxi suddenly lurched forward and came to an abrupt halt with the driver whipping his head around in surprise.

"Is that a British accent?" he inquired with a look of disbelief on his grizzled face. He studied me closely and was leaning towards me.

"I've transferred from my company's English headquarters to their Stilwater site," I explained. "It's my first time here in this part of the country so I'm not sure what to expect from this place."

The driver returned to the wheel and addressed me while looking in the rearview mirror, pulling away from the kerb. "You're in luck," he said. "I was born and raised here so I can fill you in. I hope that your bosses haven't set you up to live in Mission Beach though. It's not Ultor, is it?"

I avoided the question, clearly not wanting to let on that I may have been hoodwinked by Ultor management. I had been propositioned by my boss back in England to "sleep" my way into a more lucrative role within the company. Beside the fact that they were supposedly happily married, they were also male which doomed that enterprise from the start. I then emailed a tranfer request to Human Resources (cc'ing him and his boss). Possibly through fear of having a harassment case it was approved and this resulted in being sat in this taxi. But I didn't tell the driver this.

"What can you tell me about Mission Beach?" I asked. "I'm assuming that it's bad for residents but is it an okay place to visit?"

The driver gave me a long silent stare in his rearview mirror. "It's a goddamn warzone buddy," he replied, with a voice full of conviction. "It's territory claimed by a gang call the 3rd Street Saints but their enemies the Vice Kings are constantly trying to move in on them. Add the Los Carnales and Westside Rollerz to the mix and you have yourself a hell of a kill zone! Just be sure to cross the street if you ever see groups of youngsters wearing blue, yellow, red or purple walking towards you."

During this briefing of sorts, I had indeed noticed these gang members standing on street corners and driving past us. The yellow gangs drove saloon cars that were most likely the sport editions of the particular model they were, the blue thugs drove modified cars that would make my younger brother's mouth water. They were obviously petrolheads and it showed through the way that the cars were kept immaculately clean. The red hoodlums which I assumed were the Los Carnales (or is it just Los Carnales?) drove lowriders and were primarily hispanic. Then I realised that the yellow gangsters were a range of ethnicities and that relaxed me. The fact that I was black wouldn't necessarily mean that I would be left bulletridden on some street by default, which is what my bosses back home may have counted on.

As the journey went on, the taxi driver told me about being raised in Shivington and how life was before the gangland wars. The Carnales then claimed the neighbourhood before they were forced out sometime later by the Vice Kings. His youngest son became a Vice King and was shot dead by one of the Carnales when his gun jammed and refused to fire. On a less morbid note, his daughter now lives in Steelport as a banker and his eldest son is currently stationed in Germany with the military. Both of them frequently urge him to leave Stilwater and it's become a family running joke. But let me get back to the story.

We arrived in Mission Beach that sat adjacent to a construction site. The buildings were in disarray but it didn't seem as bad as I had been told, much to my relief. The taxi stopped and the driver turned to me once again.

"Be careful out here, pal. It seems quiet right now but it's only the quiet before the storm so keep your head down. You seem like a good kid so I'll tell you this, you aren't the first Ultor employee to be thrown into the lions' den and I doubt you'll be the last. You must've really pissed someone off, did you spill someone's tea or something?"

I laughed nervously, still shocked at how this taxi driver had deduced my circumstances but also at the jab at the British stereotype. "I refused to have sex with my boss and asked to be transferred," I answered. "There was no chance of me giving in to doing that for a better salary."

"What was wrong with her?" he asked with a puzzled look before that turned to unease. "Or are you...well, you know..."

I shook my head and gave him a reassuring smile. "My boss was a man and I wasn't planning to switch allegiances, even for a brief moment. Abuse of power at its finest!"

"It's good to see there are still some people out there with principles." he said. He extended his hand. "My name's Al, don't worry about the fare though. I feel my faith in humanity returning ever so slightly."

I took his hand firmly and shook it. "I'm Jay, may as well call me the sacrificial lamb for Ultor Unlimited, except that I'm not a virgin." We both laughed. I opened the car door and got out. "Take care Al, drive safe and hopefully I'll see you round."

"You too Jay. Between you and me, get yourself an equaliser for protection. I always keep my .44 Shepherd upfront with me in my cab and I've had to use it on occasion to deal with scumbags. Make sure you stay indoors until then!"

I stood still watching him drive away until the taxi disappeared around the corner. We had actually stopped right outside of my new home which had a garage built into the side so I didn't have to walk far. If only I had know what was in store for me inside.

The interior was hideous! It was basically a bedsit but it reminded me of a typical crack den or traphouse. I wouldn't have been surprised if the previous occupier met a violent fate either in here or somewhere nearby. There was a mattress on the floor, a small portable TV, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a fridge, a dirty sink, some miscellaneous furniture and a large (empty) safe. It was disgusting and I couldn't believe that I had to live here now.

I stepped outside to contact my new workplace and to escape the cesspit that was my new home. The sun was shining and seeing as the weather was remarkably good, I felt my mood improve a little.

"Hello, Ultor Unlimited Human Resourcing, I'm Melissa, how can I help?" said a chirpy, young female voice.

"Hello Melissa, my name is Jay Irons and I've recently transferred from the Leicester office over in England" I explained. "I've just landed here in Stilwater and was wondering when you would like me to come into the office."

"Hi Jay! Yes, I was told that you'd be landing today and I've been instructed to brief you as soon as you were to call. Basically, we've decided to give you a fortnight to get used to the city before you have to actually start your new job. We've already wired $1000 to your new account with the Stilwater 1st National Bank with no strings attached. You're an exceptional case apparently!"

"Ah I see. That explains what I've just seen on the ATM machine screen," I said suspiciously. "That's good news as I'm a bit jetlagged right now and everything is much different to England here!"

"Well I hope you enjoy working with us on this side of the Atlantic. It's Friday today so you have seventeen days to relax and prepare. I love your accent by the way, welcome to America and please don't hesitate to call me if you have any problems, okay?"

"I was given the details by my HR department across the water so I should be fine. Thanks for the info Melissa."

"Okay, it's been great talking to you. Have a nice day, Jay!"

I ended the call and walked back inside, I was starting to feel tired and I was able to find a clean sleeping bag to use with the mattress. I took one last look at my surroundings, gave out a sigh and disrobed to my boxers before climbing inside the sleeping bag.

I woke up to find the sky dark and the room much cooler than earlier. I was hungry so I rummaged around in my backpack to find the three identical submarine sandwiches I had bought in the airport (with their turkey, beef, chicken and lettuce filling) and put two into the fridge while eating one. It was deathly silent outside and seeing as the TV didn't work I decided to go for a walk. I threw on a black t-shirt, some jeans and put on my trainers before stepping outside.

Mission Beach is a peculiar place to be in at night, I walked past a man selling watches who proceeded to begin a sales pitch before realising that I wasn't going to stop and buy anything. He turned his attention elsewhere instead and almost immediately a woman kindly offered her "services" promising me a good time. Before I could turn her down (although I was tempted), we both heard raised voices on the other side of the street. Three men wearing yellow were staring at some graffiti on a wall, and were obviously annoyed at its presence. One wore a white basketball jersey with a yellow t-shirt underneath, another wore a yellow t-shirt with canerows (better known as cornrows) and the third wore a yellow zipup jacket.

The yellow t-shirt thug then began to spray over the graffiti that had said "Rollerz" until three thugs dressed in blue approached them. One wielded a baseball bat and things seemed to heat up and the thug with the bat struck the basketball jersey wearing thug in the face. The canerows-sporting thug then punched him and sprayed his attacker's friend in the eyes with the can of spraypaint. Zipup Jacket Man then hit the thug still standing as the baseball bat thug ran away (who was hit by the thrown spraypaint can as he ran past me and the hooker.

A red lowrider then pulled up with three Los Carnales men who then opened fire with sub-machine guns and assault rifles on the remaining five thugs who began firing back with their handguns. Both of the thugs wearing blue were downed along with the yellow zipup jacket thug but while one Carnales thug was reloading, out of nowhere the canerow thug charged the lowrider and shot one assailant at point blank range. He too was then was gunned down like the other three.

As this was going on, I was making a silent getaway amongst all of the chaos. Just as I thought that I had gotten away with my life, I turned around and quickly dived out of the way of the out-of-control lowrider which burst into flames as it hit the wall. I hit my bad knee as I landed, rolling onto my back slowly as I surveyed the almost cinematic scene. I quickly assessed the situation, one thug in blue had ran away and the thug in the jersey must have been still seeing stars after being acquainted with that baseball bat. I looked over at the car and noticed that one Los Carnales thug had been thrown clear, and with his sunglasses intact, no less. Deep dread then gripped me when I saw the thug in blue who had originally ran past me and the hooker approach toting an assault rifle, assumedly from his car. The thug lying on the ground tried to get up and received a generous number of rounds to the chest at point blank range as I watched. This thug was then shot in the back of the head just as I noticed the Ultor logo on his hat by the jersey wearing gangster who then noticed me and drew closer, raising the firearm at me and holding it sideways as I tried to shift away backwards.

"Wrong time, wrong place, dog" he said, with a twinge of regret in his voice. Where did that hooker or the man selling watches go? I'm guessing that I was the nearest witness to this skirmish and all that was on my mind was that seeing as he was holding the gun sideways, maybe there was a chance that he would miss. Was it possible to miss from inside five metres? That thought was ended by a gunshot...


End file.
